


Screams My Name at Night

by Phoenixinthehouseofthemoon



Series: Breaks From Within [3]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Disturbing Themes, Domestic Violence, Extremely Dubious Consent, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD READ THE TAGS, FUCK THE REDANIAN SECRET SERVICE, Heavy Angst, I am never going to be able to watch James Bond again, Implied Child Death, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Mercy Killings, Jack’s Seven Circle Tour of Hell, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Past Child Abuse, THE SPY WORLD IS A HORROR SHOW, THERE WILL BE HEALING, The RSS is the Red Room of the Witcher with all of the wonderful issues THAT includes, The use and abuse of magic portals by the author, Trauma, assassinations, breakups and makeups, dark themes, disturbing imagery, fuck valdo marx
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24364003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixinthehouseofthemoon/pseuds/Phoenixinthehouseofthemoon
Summary: The past can’t stay buried forever and secrets never stay secrets for long. JaskierJulianreally should know that by now.MAKA: The “You really should discuss the fact that you’re a retired Redanian Secret Service agent with your lover BEFORE they find out on their own” fic what ALSO moved into my house and stole my alcohol.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Breaks From Within [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1751503
Comments: 203
Kudos: 268





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! This is a direct sequel to “Something You Carry With You” and prior knowledge of that fic will be needed for any of this to make sense.
> 
> Title taken from the song “My Body is a Cage” by Arcade Fire.
> 
> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: In certain States in the US, if a family of bats move into your house, they now own the house. Coexist or déménagez.

  * Geralt could stay in ~~their~~ the little cottage by the Coast with Jaskier forever, just the two of them.
  * They don’t, of course.
  * Geralt’s feet itch for the Path
  * As do Jaskier’s
  * As summer lists towards autumn, they decide to leave.
  * For a week, Jaskier plays more frequently at the taverns, to gather funds, while Geralt sets about securing their supplies.
  * As a general rule, Geralt avoids the small village near ~~their~~ the cottage
  * More from a general dislike for being around too many people, than any hostilities from the locals.
  * “Toss a Coin” may be the single most irritating song that Jaskier has ever written, but it has done wonders for both he and his brothers.
  * Geralt would rather eat a live frog than tell his ~~love~~ bard as much, though.
  * He’s noticed the stitching in Jaskier’s boots fraying from use and the soles growing thin.
  * It wouldn’t do to leave, only to have to immediately return when the boots inevitably break.
  * Geralt is at the cobbler’s, next to the inn on the high street, when he overhears it.
  * “Killed by the Butcher of Blaviken,” says a man inside the inn.
  * He freezes
  * Cold sweat gathers at the back of his neck and that familiar ~~biting~~ ~~clawing~~ ~~creeping~~ feeling begins its journey up his spine.
  * ~~Butcher, Butcher, Butcher~~
  * ~~He can’t escape what he is  
~~
  * “The Butcher of Blaviken,” the man repeats. “You know, the mage what killed all them girls and kept the bodies?”
  * What?
  * “Stegobar, I think the messenger said.”
  * Stregobor, they’re talking about Stregobor, but -
  * “They found him hanging from the walls of his castle one morning and went inside and there were girls bodies everywhere is what the messenger said. He was keeping them fresh with some kind of ungodly magic. So, Blaviken sent out riders to find the families, to collect the dead. Guess there was a girl whose family used to live in my house, and the messenger dragged me out of bed because of it. Still, got a good story from it.”
  * Geralt pays the cobbler with unseeing eyes and grabs the embossed boots he’d picked for Jaskier.
  * The next thing Geralt is aware of, he’s standing in the doorway of the cottage, boots hanging limply in his grasp.
  * Jaskier is giving him an increasingly concerned look.
  * “Geralt, what’s wrong,” he asks. “What’s happened, love?”
  * Geralt can’t think
  * Can’t formulate words
  * He grabs Jaskier, hugs his bard tightly and buries his nose in the scent of oakmoss wildflowers sandalwood ~~home~~
  * “Geralt, please, what’s happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
  * No
  * No ghosts
  * Not anymore
  * Stregobor is dead
  * He’s dead
  * He’s dead
  * He’s dead
  * “Talk to me, Geralt, please.”
  * “Stregobor is dead,” he says ~~chokes~~ ~~whispers~~. “He’s dead.”
  * Jaskier meant to tell Geralt about Stregobor, but when they first arrived at the cottage his lover had been so ~~broken~~ ~~desolate~~ ~~wounded~~ unwell, that he’d put it off.
  * ~~Not because it would be difficult to explain how you knew about his demise before anyone else?~~
  * ~~You used to be a better liar, Julian~~
  * Then Geralt had started healing, truly healing, and he’s been utterly distracted by the image of his Witcher whole and healthy and hale for the first time he’s witnessed.
  * Now, Geralt has heard the news from a stranger.
  * ~~And you always used to be so careful.~~
  * “They’re calling him the “Butcher of Blaviken”,” Geralt whispers.
  * Fuck.
  * Fuck, shit, and Melitele damn it to hell.
  * ~~Admittedly, carving “Butcher” into Stregobor’s chest was perhaps a bit much, but it felt _so right_~~
  * ~~Love is making you careless~~
  * Jaskier holds Geralt close, running a soothing hand up and down the Witcher’s back, trying to comfort his lover.
  * Geralt was grateful when Jaskier moved them to sit on the couch.
  * He felt as if his legs could go out from under him at any moment
  * ~~Or even, retire here, happy, with Jaskier.~~
  * Anything was possible in the new world he found himself in.
  * “I’m not the Butcher anymore,” he murmured to himself.
  * He’s free
  * He’s truly, finally free
  * Free of the Butcher
  * Free of Stregobor
  * Free of “No more Princess”
  * “No, you aren’t love,” Jaskier says, warmly.
  * Geralt laughs
  * Laughs like he hasn’t since he was a child
  * He’s free
  * He’s finally free
  * He leans down and pulls Jaskier into a kiss
  * Geralt wants to cry
  * To shout
  * To sing and dance
  * To never stop kissing Jaskier
  * To make love in the sunlight of ~~their~~ the garden
  * ~~To put a ring on Jaskier’s finger and promise~~
  * ~~Before the gods and goddesses and Destiny and the entire fucking Continent~~
  * ~~Forever forever forever~~
  * But,
  * “The girl in the woods will be with you, always.”
  * He may be free, but there’s still one who isn’t
  * Geralt pulls out of the kiss with a frown.
  * He may no longer be the “Butcher of Blaviken”, but he doubts he would be welcome to simply walk up to Stregobor’s castle and request Renfri’s body.
  * Even if they didn’t stone him out of town, due to long memory, it wasn’t as if he could claim to be a family member.
  * “What’s the matter,” Jaskier asks.
  * “The ones I overheard, said they’d sent out riders to the families of the dead; to claim the bodies.”
  * Jaskier nodded and ran a gentle hand through Geralt’s hair.
  * ~~So, so many bodies.~~
  * ~~Can’t decide if Stregobor was just that confident that he wouldn’t be caught or just lazy about disposal~~
  * “Renfri,” Geralt says, hesitantly.
  * “You want to go get her, don’t you?”
  * Because of course Geralt does.
  * The Witcher would never let anyone he loves go to an unmarked grave; unloved and unremembered.
  * The rings in the breast pocket of his doublet _burn_ against his chest.
  * “It’s not like they would let me claim her. I’m a Witcher and not family, besides,” Geralt says dejectedly.
  * Well, that just won’t do.
  * “You might not be able to claim her, but her cousin, Jaskier the famous bard, could.”
  * Jaskier loves Geralt for the shy, surprised look he gets.
  * “You would do that?”
  * ~~As if I wouldn’t burn the entire Continent, just to see you smile.~~
  * “Of course I would, love,” Jaskier reassures. “She held your heart before I did, and I would be honored to help you lay her to rest with dignity.”
  * Geralt’s answering smile could outshine the sun.
  * Two weeks later, Geralt waits in the woods outside of Blaviken for Jaskier to return with Renfri.
  * Depending upon the state of ~~decay~~ ~~decomposition~~ ~~rot~~ Renfri’s body, they may be forced to light a pyre for her immediately.
  * Geralt has chosen the clearing ~~they’d~~ he’d spent the night in before -
  * ~~“The girl in the woods will be with you, always.”~~
  * ~~He hopes the rumors of preservation magic are true~~
  * ~~He wants to take Renfri to he and Jaskier’s cottage on the Coast~~
  * ~~If she could find peace anywhere, it would be there.~~
  * Geralt hears twigs breaking underfoot nearby and turns to see an old woman, holding a basket of apples
  * Her hair is white with age, deep wrinkles carve lines into her face, and she walks favoring her left leg.
  * The face is unfamiliar, but the eyes, the scent, he recognizes.
  * “Marilka,” he greets.
  * The old woman smiles, “hello, Geralt. Still lurking in the woods for Kikimoras?”
  * “Hmm. Still poisoning noisy dogs?”
  * “I moved on to much bigger, noisier targets,” she laughs. “Retired now, though.”
  * She gestures at the log Geralt is sitting on and he rises to help her, before retaking his seat.
  * Marilka offers him an apple from her basket.
  * Smelling no poison, he takes it and they eat together.
  * “Heard about Stregobor, I’m guessing,” She says, cutting off a chunk of apple.
  * Geralt hums in response.
  * “Everyone in town seems to think that someone carved him up and strung him from the castle walls as revenge. If you showed up, they’d likely think it was you.”
  * Geralt freezes and his muscles tense.
  * Was she here to accuse him?
  * Lure him into a stoning?
  * What about Jaskier?
  * Would they connect the bard to him and - 
  * “Oh, relax Geralt,” she says, taking a bite of apple. “I’m not here to string you up.”
  * Smelling the truth of her statement, Geralt went back to his apple, but kept an ear on the woods, just in case.
  * “Besides,” she smirks. “Everyone in town is an idiot.”
  * He chuckles, despite himself.
  * “Only one person I know sends a message like that, and they’re no Witcher,” she concludes.
  * “Message,” he asks, confused.
  * “So, you haven’t heard. They didn’t just kill Stregobor. They took their time carving a pretty little message into his chest before they strung him up.”
  * Geralt turns the idea of Stregobor suffering before he died over in his mind.
  * He knows what dying in agony looks like
  * Sounds like
  * Smells like
  * No one deserves that
  * ~~Except Stregobor~~
  * “It’s strange, though,” Marilka says. “Stregobor hasn’t touched hide nor hair of anyone in 50 years. Makes me wonder why someone would come for him now.”
  * Marilka is right, it is strange.
  * Geralt has assumed Stregobor’s death to be retaliation for a recent crime, but if not...
  * Why would anyone wait 50 years or more to take revenge?
  * Who would be alive to care?
  * Marilka catches his eyes with her own,
  * “You have an admirer, Geralt of Rivia. I’d look to that, if I were you.”
  * Geralt feels the apple in his stomach sink like stone.
  * ”Admirer?”
  * “The Shadowstalker vanished over 20 years ago. Now, they show up to carve “Butcher” into Stregobor’s chest and put him on display on the castle walls. What could that possibly be, except a courting gesture?”
  * Dread creeps up the back of Geralt’s neck.
  * ~~Butcher, carved into Stregobor’s rotting chest~~
  * Marilka is right.
  * That isn’t revenge
  * It’s a message
  * For him
  * Marilka rises and goes to take her leave.
  * “Who,” he asks. “Who is the Shadowstalker?”
  * Marilka pauses, gazing over her shoulder at him.
  * “They’re the one you send to kill kings, to end wars, to massacre armies. They’re the one you’d send to kill a god. And now, they’ve set their eye on you. Good luck, Geralt of Rivia.”
  * Marilka walks away, leaving Geralt with a growing sense of unease.
  * Jaskier returns with Renfri
  * There’s no scent of decay around her and through her thin muslin shroud, Geralt can see she looks just as she did the last time he saw her.
  * His medallion vibrates against his chest at the powerful magic surrounding her.
  * ~~He doesn’t think about why Stregobor was so fastidious about preserving her body.~~
  * ~~He may have to thank the Shadowstalker for their gift, before making it clear that he has no interest.~~
  * The magic is strong enough that he can go through with his plan of burying Renfri at ~~home~~ the cottage
  * Jaskier hires a mage in the next village for a portal back to the Coast.
  * Geralt lights Renfri’s pyre at sunset.
  * The orange, red of the flames dances with the sinking sun, as the waves crash noisily against the cliffs.
  * It is beautiful
  * He hopes that she can find the same peace that this place has brought him.
  * He leaves a simple gravemarker where the pyre stood: Renfri’s sword and broach, sticking up from the ground.
  * If anyone deserves the traditions of he and his brothers, it’s her.
  * He and Jaskier spend one final night curled up in ~~their~~ the bed of the cottage.
  * He dreams of Renfri
  * Happy
  * Smiling
  * Free




	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was originally going to post this on Thursday, but then I was informed that my dearly detested, mine mortal enemy, @whitewolfandthefox, was brought into the mortal plane on this most auspicious of days. So, in celebration, have a new chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: Binturongs, also known as Bearcats, are viverrid native to South and Southeast Asia. They smell like popcorn.

  * Geralt has not forgotten about the Shadowstalker
  * While a human assassin may not be a threat to a Witcher, if they really were watching him
  * ~~Courting him~~
  * How would they react to Jaskier?
  * He needs more information.
  * A name, a description, something.
  * Once he and Jaskier set out on the Path, he has a witch, in a village he’d freed of werewolves, send a message to Lambert
  * Lambert may not be part of the world the Shadowstalker comes from, but he knows those that are.
  * A week later, he receives a raven with a demand to meet.
  * ~~He ignores the sinking feeling in his bones, as he agrees~~
  * He meets Lambert at an inn in Novigrad.
  * Jaskier is playing at the local tavern nearby, suitably distracted.
  * Geralt doesn’t want to worry his ~~lover~~ bard to worry over something that may be idle rumors.
  * He and Lambert have a drink, after exchanging greetings to the tunes of “asshole” and “shit for brains”.
  * They take a seat at the small table in the corner of the inn.
  * “So, why do _you_ need to know about the Shadowstalker, Oh, noble Geralt of Rivia,” Lambert asks.
  * To an outsider, Lambert looks relaxed, but Geralt can see the tightness around his eyes that indicates concern.
  * ~~His shoulders tense in response.~~
  * Lambert makes a joke of anything vaguely resembling a serious matter.
  * His brother’s concern, doesn’t bode well.
  * “Think they may be following me,” Geralt responds.
  * “Following you,” Lambert asks, eyes going sharp.
  * ~~Fuck~~
  * ~~A wave of cold creeps up Geralt’s back.~~
  * Lambert never acted this serious, even over matters of life and death.
  * “You heard about Stregobor?”
  * Lambert nods, “couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.”
  * “A...friend told me that it was a message,” Geralt hesitates. “A courting gesture.”
  * “Fuck,” Lambert mutters, taking a swig if his ale. “So, the great White Wolf has caught the Shadowstalker’s eye. I would un-catch it quickly, if I were you.”
  * ~~Dread sunk its claws into Geralt’s spine.~~
  * “What do you know,” he asks, quietly.
  * “I know Letho would ride him into the sunset, given half an opportunity. He’s something of a fan,” Lambert snorts. “Outside of that? The man’s a fucking ghost story, Geralt; with a trail of bodies stretching from here to Kaer Morhen.”
  * Geralt fights down the urge to take Jaskier and leave town.
  * If this Shadowstalker is the jealous type, there’s no way he isn’t a threat to his ~~lover~~ bard.
  * “I need more than a ghost story, Lambert. Who he works for, what he looks like, his name, anything.”
  * Lambert lets out a short bark of a laugh.
  * “You want a name? Shadowstalker, Kingslayer, Nightwraith, Julian, Eric, Sebastian, Nikolai; take your pick.”
  * “Who he works for? He’s freelance, he’s Redanian Secret Service, he’s Nilfgaardian Military Intelligence, he’s Novigrad Security Bureau; your guess is as good as mine.”
  * “And he’s not exactly in the habit of leaving people alive to give descriptions.”
  * Geralt is ~~jumpy~~ ~~anxious~~ ~~scared~~ more cautious after his talk with Lambert.
  * He and Jaskier to paths through deep woods.
  * ~~Harder to follow and easier to hear an attacker coming~~
  * He attends all of Jaskier’s performances.
  * ~~Searching for the glint of a blade in the crowd.~~
  * He tastes Jaskier’s food and drink before the bard
  * ~~Poison doesn’t effect Witchers~~
  * He sleeps between Jaskier and any open space.
  * ~~If the Shadowstalker wants his lover, they’ll have to go through Geralt to get him.~~
  * He continues on his quest to find more information about the Shadowstalker.
  * ~~What he _knows_ , he can fight, can defeat~~
  * He remembers Lambert mentioning the Redanian Secret Service and turns them towards Oxenfurt.
  * There may not be any contracts in the city, but at least Jaskier can enjoy a visit to his university while Geralt searches for information.
  * Jaskier notices Geralt’s jumpiness.
  * The way his lover’s head snaps around at the slightest crunch of twigs
  * The way Geralt watches his performances, one hand on his sword
  * The way Geralt tests his food, before letting him eat.
  * Jaskier plans to confront Geralt.
  * To ask
  * ~~whose throat I should shred beneath my teeth for scaring you so~~
  * ~~whose head I can lay at your feet to make you feel safe  
~~
  * ~~whose world I should _burn_ to warm you with the fire  
~~
  * how he can help.
  * Then, Geralt announces that they’re going to Oxenfurt.
  * Jaskier’s blood runs cold in his veins.
  * ~~Has he figured it out, do you think?~~
  * ~~Does he know who you are, _Julian_?~~
  * The last time Jaskier had been to Oxenfurt it was ~~to threaten his handler’s family~~ ~~to bury Julian alive~~ ~~to _get out get out get out_~~ a rather unpleasant experience.
  * There weren’t any monsters in Oxenfurt
  * ~~Except the ones wearing human skin, plenty of those~~
  * He wonders why Geralt wants to go.
  * Still, if that’s where his Witcher needs to go, that’s where they’ll go.
  * ~~Keep your head down, mouth closed, eyes open, and hands quick.~~
  * ~~You just may make it out of this, _Julian_.  
~~
  * The closer they get to Oxenfurt, Geralt begins to notice Jaskier acting strangely.
  * His bard’s eyes go sharp and distant at seemingly random times.
  * His oakmoss wildflower sandalwood ~~home~~ scent is intermittently cut through with the bite of winter frost and wood ash.
  * His flashy jewel toned clothes are exchanged for more muted colors
  * In the towns surrounding Oxenfurt, Jaskier begins blending into the shadows.
  * Geralt would have lost track of his bard, if not for the trail of frost and wood ash left in his wake.
  * ~~Perhaps he can purchase Jaskier a new soap while they’re in Oxenfurt; this one doesn’t suit his lover at all.~~
  * Geralt looks for any explanation as to his bard’s strange behavior, but finds none.
  * Except
  * Dread sinks into the back of Geralt’s neck
  * What if Jaskier knows about the Shadowstalker?
  * What if he knows about the assassin apparently courting Geralt?
  * He wants to confront Jaskier about it.
  * To ask if he’s had any strange or threatening encounters with someone
  * To reassure him that Geralt will protect him, will solve this, will never let anyone hurt him.
  * It would explain a lot
  * Jaskier’s anxiousness
  * The way his hand strays to the dagger Geralt knows he keeps hidden under his sleeve
  * The way the bard seems to be trying to hide, while in town
  * But, if he’s wrong and Jaskier _doesn’t_ know about the Shadowstalker -
  * He doesn’t want to worry his ~~lover~~ bard more.
  * Things will be fine, once they get to Oxenfurt
  * Once Geralt has more information
  * Once he knows how to protect Jaskier from this threat
  * Everything will be fine
  * They arrive in Oxenfurt during an afternoon rainstorm
  * For once, Jaskier does not complain about the deluge or the state of his clothes.
  * The rain gives him an excuse to keep the hood of his cloak up and less people who might recognize him are out on the streets.
  * They take up residency at an inn, near the outskirts of town, and he resolves to stay in the room as much as possible.
  * Then, Geralt insists on going out, alone.
  * The Witcher says that there’s an errand he needs to run and asks for Jaskier to wait for him here.
  * Jaskier remembers the signs
  * The disappearances
  * The anxiousness
  * He waits a few moments to give Geralt a head start, before exiting through the window of their room.
  * ~~If Yennefer has decided to ignore the warning, I’m more than happy to show her the error of her ways.~~
  * Following Geralt turns out to be a mistake
  * ~~Should have known better than to think no one would notice my return~~
  * There’s a reason he avoids Redania all together.
  * Jaskier turns down an alleyway, to follow Geralt surreptitiously, when he runs into Valdo Marx.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter on Friday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: The Dingo Fence is a fence located in Australia specifically designed to keep dingos out of sheep land. It is longer than the Great Wall of China.

  * Jaskier ~~Julian~~ is not stupid enough to think that meeting Marx is by chance.
  * “Hello, Valdo,” he says, to his old handler.
  * “Hello, Julian,” Marx replies, posture tense, and poorly feigning nonchalance.
  * ~~This is why he would never survive in the field.~~
  * ~~Never had that stage presence required~~
  * “Coming back home,” Marx asks.
  * ~~Coming back to be our good little agent?~~
  * ~~Our pretty little songbird?~~
  * ~~Our deadliest, most disposable, fucking weapon~~
  * “Just passing through.”
  * Jaskier ~~Julian~~ flits his eyes up to the rooftops surrounding the alley, looking for the tell-tale glint of an archer’s arrow
  * Listens for the soft, shifting sound of a blade pulled from the sheath, behind him
  * “Are you here to kill me,” Marx asks.
  * There’s a tremor, a fear, in Valdo’s voice, despite all of the man’s training.
  * “Like I said,” Julian ~~Jaskier~~ drawls, “just passing through. Leave me to my business and I’ll leave you to yours.”
  * Whatever you’re here for Valdo, let it go
  * Much safer for you that way
  * Valdo’s shoulders relax infinitesimally
  * With that one small move, he might as well be shouting his intentions from the rooftops
  * Valdo isn’t here to kill him, just to confirm that his own skin is safe.
  * “Well,” Julian declares, clapping his hands once, enjoying Valdo’s tiny flinch, “as pleasant as this little chat has been, must dash.”
  * He moves to walk past Marx and continue following Geralt
  * Hopefully the Witcher hasn’t gotten too far ahead.
  * “I heard you were traveling with the Witcher in town,” Marx comments.
  * Julian stops and catches Valdo’s eyes, watching as the man subtly leans away.
  * “Careful, Valdo,” he says, playfully. “The ledge you’re treading only holds so much weight, and you’re getting heavier by the second.”
  * Touch what’s mine and I will _come for what’s yours_.
  * Marx clears his throat, a hand fiddling with his collar as he clearly remembers
  * ~~A dark night~~
  * ~~Waking from a dead sleep~~
  * ~~Julian covered in blood, in a chair next to the bed~~
  * ~~“I’m going to leave and you’re going to let me, Valdo. Because if you don’t, then one night, when you and your wife and little John and Sara are sleeping, I’ll have to _come back_.”~~
  * “To the point then,” Marx says. “There’s a war coming. Nilfgaard has set its eyes on Cintra.”
  * Oh, he knows.
  * Has heard it in whispers in the taverns
  * Has smelled it in the burning pitch on the winds
  * Has seen it in the way Death has been visiting more often
  * It’s why he’s been so insistent on Geralt meeting his Child Surprise
  * The princess of Cintra is Geralt’s, which means she falls under Julian’s protection
  * ~~He knows what happens to pretty princesses in war~~
  * “And why should I give a fuck about Cintra,” he asks, leaning back against an alley wall, hand idly slipping towards the dagger in his sleeve.
  * How much do you know Valdo?
  * Pray it isn’t enough that this alley becomes your grave.
  * “Because if Cintra falls, Redania will likely go with them. We could use a man of your skill set.”
  * Oh, I just bet you could.
  * “You must be truly desperate to appeal to my sense of patriotism,” Julian laughs. “Redania is more than capable of looking after itself. Let Cintra drown in the blood of Calanthe’s hubris. It’s not my business.”
  * His hand slips away from his dagger
  * Valdo knows nothing.
  * He’d be too cocky not to use it, if he did.
  * Julian turns to leave, keeping an ear on Valdo’s movement, in case the man decides to try something truly stupid
  * “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
  * “Don’t I always, Valdo?”
  * Jaskier ~~Julian~~ emerges from the alley, looking for Geralt, but the Witcher is gone.
  * Geralt sits cross legged in a dirt alley outside of what he can only assume is the headquarters of the Redanian Secret Service.
  * Witcher hearing had been instrumental in finding the place.
  * He’d simply wandered until he began hearing indistinct whispers about assassinations, diplomatic envoys, and war until they rang clear as bells in his ears.
  * Now, he’s hidden behind a reeking trash bin, listening for any mention of the names Lambert gave him.
  * Surely, if the Shadowstalker was part of the Redanian Secret Service, Stregobor’s death would have drawn their attention.
  * He’s heard more secrets in the past two hours than he cares to name, but nothing that could be related to the Shadowstalker.
  * He’s about to give it up for a dead end, when he hears it
  * Two men, talking near the far end of the building.
  * “I heard Julian was back in town,” one man says.
  * Julian? Wasn’t that one of the names Lambert had mentioned?
  * Just back in town would fit, if the Shadowstalker truly was following Geralt.
  * “Heard they sent Marx out to try to recruit him back,” a second man replies.
  * Marx? Valdo Marx? The man that Jaskier wished death by apoplexy upon? But why would - 
  * “After Julian broke into his house and threatened his family as his resignation? Melitele, Marx must have been pissing himself,” the first man laughs.
  * “Ah, it’s a long shot anyway,” the second man says. “Heard Julian’s living fat. He’s fashioned himself into some kind of barker for a Witcher. Great way to cover up any freelance he’s been taking. Who notices a few extra bodies, when a Witcher’s in town?”
  * Geralt freezes, ice rushing through his veins.
  * “Besides, who’d ever believe the infamous Shadowstalker’s name is fucking _Jaskier_?”
  * The bottom of Geralt’s world drops out.
  * Geralt loses time
  * He’s not sure how long he crouched behind that trash bin, the smell of rotting meat burning his nose
  * No
  * It can’t be
  * Can’t be Jaskier
  * Can’t be
  * Smooth, sweet lullabies soothing him after a nightmare
  * Morning sunlight setting brown hair ablaze with red on the pillow next to him
  * Warm smiles and gentle kisses after dinner every night
  * Eating strawberries from long fingers in the garden by the sea
  * Oakmoss wildflowers sandalwood _home_
  * It can’t be
  * Except
  * Daggers thrown deep into the bark of an old mahogany; a slice, strong enough to behead, at precisely the level of a man’s throat
  * Enough money to buy a cottage on the Coast at last minute and restock it with crockery every three days.
  * Eyes going strange, flat, _dead_ for just a hint of a moment.
  * Winter frost and wood ash burning at his nose
  * Sliding into the shadows so smoothly, even a Witcher fails to notice
  * Agonizing death as a first wish
  * “Butcher” carved deep into Stregobor’s chest
  * Geralt has just enough time to turn to the side before vomiting everything in his stomach.
  * He wipes the bile from his lips on the sleeve of his shirt.
  * Why?
  * Why would Jaskier -
  * “Who notices a few more bodies when a Witcher’s in town”
  * Geralt shuts his eyes tight against the burning in them
  * Feels the tears drip from the corners, regardless
  * But why would Jaskier
  * Gentle caresses under the shade of an oak tree
  * Soft moans and arched backs next to the campfire
  * Adoring eyes staring down from above and wet kisses along the jaw
  * Asking permission for everything
  * Every
  * Single
  * Fucking
  * Time
  * Except -
  * Jaskier with a barmaid on his lap, lips kissing along her neck
  * Jaskier with a stablemaster in an empty horse stall
  * Jaskier’s wish for the Countess de Stael
  * Jaskier, with a new person in his bed in every town
  * The tears carve lines down Geralt’s cheeks and he swipes at them angrily.
  * He was a convenience to ~~Jaskier~~ the Shadowstalker
  * A convenient excuse to cover his crimes
  * A convenient fuck while in the wilderness
  * Nothing more, nothing less
  * He shouldn’t have forgotten how humans view Witchers: there to be used and then thrown from the gates, once their use is up.
  * Witchers don’t have feelings to hurt
  * Or hearts to break
  * ~~He can’t escape what he is~~
  * Geralt dries his face, rises, and makes his way back to the inn.
  * He trudges his way up the stairs to he and ~~Jaskier~~ the Shadowstalker’s room.
  * He can smell oakmoss wildflowers sandalwood, with hints of frost and wood ash, emanating from inside
  * Where the scent used ~~soothe~~ ~~comfort~~ pacify him, it now only serves to make him angry
  * He wants to unleash the howl building in his chest, until his vocal chords snap under the strain
  * Wants to break anything, everything ~~Jaskier~~ the Shadowstalker ever gave him; so he never has to look at them again
  * Wants to _run run run_ before he can hear the admission in ~~Jaskier’s~~ the Shadowstalker’s mouth.
  * Wants to go back ~~home~~ to the cottage on the cliffs, bury his face in ~~their~~ the bed and wail.
  * He shoves the door open and slams it behind him.
  * He sees it now.
  * The way ~~Jaskier~~ the Shadowstalker always reaches for a blade when startled; his eyes sharp and flat.
  * ~~Gods, how could he be so _blind_?~~
  * For one single, wild moment, Geralt hopes that he’s wrong
  * That ~~Jaskier~~ the bard isn’t the Shadowstalker
  * That this whole thing is just a nightmare
  * That their ~~love~~ ~~relationship~~ ~~friendship~~ companionship hasn’t all been a lie.
  * “We need to talk, _Shadowstalker_ ,” he growls.
  * Please let him be wrong
  * Please
  * Please
  * _Please_
  * The way Jaskier’s face falls, tells him everything he needs to know.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter on Saturday!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love you. I love each and every one of you. Let’s just go into this with that knowledge, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: Fennec foxes can hear rodents digging underground.

  * Jaskier ~~Julian~~ has spent the last four hours fighting the urge to track his lover down by any means necessary
  * ~~And, in Oxenfurt, there are oh, so many options~~
  * If Marx knows about the depth of his relationship with Geralt, he just might be foolish enough to try to use his Witcher as leverage.
  * Then Geralt crashes through the door, jaw clenched and eyes wild.
  * Anger, something has angered him.
  * Not an uncommon occurrence, but enough for concern in Oxenfurt.
  * Geralt stares at him for a moment, breathing hard through his nose
  * Something isn’t right
  * Geralt isn’t _just_ angry
  * He can see the remains of tear tracks on his lover’s cheeks
  * Smell a hint of bile on his breath
  * ~~Someone _hurt_ him~~
  * ~~Find out _who  
_~~
  * ~~~~“Geralt,” Jaskier ~~Julian~~ asks, cautiously taking a step forward.
  * “We need to talk, _Shadowstalker_.”
  * Geralt’s words freeze him in his tracks
  * His heart plummets for his stomach and the tips of his fingers go cold
  * ~~Did you really think you could hide forever, _Julian_?~~
  * Jaskier sighs lightly and slumps his shoulders
  * He’s known this was coming
  * After Stregobor, how couldn’t it?
  * Still, he’d hoped -
  * ~~For a fresh start~~
  * ~~For one clean, pure thing in his blood drenched life~~
  * ~~For his fingers to twirl songs, instead of daggers~~ ~~~~
  * Well, it doesn’t matter what he’s hoped.
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are~~
  * “That’s not my name,” he says, softly.
  * “Oh, do you prefer _Julian_ ,” Geralt spits at him.
  * Jaskier leans back, as if he’s been slapped
  * Truth be told, it might hurt less, even with Geralt’s strength.
  * Julian was -
  * ~~Blood dripping from hands and arms~~
  * ~~Poison slipping between the teeth of kings~~
  * ~~Sliding through shadows like a ghost, like a nightmare~~
  * \- not him, not anymore
  * “So, tell me, _Julian_ ,” Geralt barrels onward, “how many?”
  * ~~I stopped counting a long time ago~~
  * “How many bodies have you left in _my_ wake,” Geralt demands. “How many murders have you used me to cover up?”
  * “What? Geralt, I would never,” he insists.
  * Why would Geralt think that?
  * Where would he get that idea?
  * “Oh, so Stregobor carved “Butcher” into his chest and hanged himself from his own walls,” Geralt sneers.
  * “That was different,” Jaskier ~~Julian~~ says, icily.
  * ~~I did it for you~~
  * ~~To protect you~~
  * ~~To free you of the title you never deserved~~
  * Geralt laughs, but there’s no humor behind it, “yes, this time you weren’t being paid.”
  * ~~So much money~~
  * ~~All of it covered in blood~~
  * ~~In the tears of widows~~
  * ~~In the screams of orphaned children~~
  * “Though, I suppose you took your due in _alternative payment_.”
  * ~~Being fucked rough and barely prepped against stone walls to gain access to a bed chamber~~
  * ~~An aching jaw and the smell of honeysuckle perfume on his clothes, from gathering information~~
  * ~~“Sex is a weapon, Julian. Use it.”~~
  * Jaskier ~~Julian~~ feels sick.
  * “Did you enjoy it? Having a Witcher quivering beneath you? A Witcher letting a monster like you fuck him into the sheets. You must have been laughing, the whole time.”
  * Monster
  * Monster
  * _Monster_
  * All that I’m good at, all that I’m good _for_
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are~~
  * “If I’m such a monster, why don’t you you just kill me,” Jaskier ~~Julian~~ whispers.
  * This time, it’s Geralt that stumbles back as if struck, before he recovers.
  * “Unlike you, _Julian_ , I don’t take contracts on humans.”
  * “That’s not my name,” Jaskier ~~Julian~~ shouts. “I’m not -
  * Not ~~blood covered hands and tear stained coin~~
  * Not ~~stone walls digging bruises into skin and poison slipped between lips~~
  * Not ~~“Sex is a weapon” and sliding in the shadows~~
  * “I’m not Julian, I’m Jaski-“
  * “Jaskier is a lie,” Geralt roars, cutting him off. “Everything about you is a _lie_.”
  * Lie
  * Lie
  * Lie
  * _Such a pretty little lie_
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are~~
  * Jaskier watches as Geralt gathers his things.
  * He’s leaving
  * Geralt is leaving him
  * No, he has to stop this. Has to -
  * “Geralt,” he begs. “Geralt, please. Please, I love -“
  * “Don’t,” Geralt snaps. “Don’t you dare say that to me, like you have _any_ idea what love is. _Monsters_ aren’t capable of love, _Julian_.”
  * Jaskier watches in silence as Geralt finishes gathering his things.
  * Tears sting his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall.
  * ~~Monsters don’t cry.~~
  * Bags packed, Geralt heads for the door.
  * “Don’t follow me, Julian. You know what Witchers do to monsters and my _fondness_ for you, has reached its limit.”
  * Geralt leaves, slamming the door behind him.
  * Jaskier stands in the silence, left in Geralt’s wake for a moment, simply breathing, before grabbing the lute at the end of the bed.
  * He raises it above his head like a club, and and bashes it against the floor
  * Again
  * And again
  * And again
  * Until it’s mangled beyond repair
  * Until it’s nothing but splintered wood, only fit for kindling
  * Jaskier the Bard would be screaming his head off
  * But there is no Jaskier the Bard
  * There’s only screaming in the forest until his throat goes raw
  * Only singing soft, sweet lullabies to himself, as he shakes awake from another nightmare
  * Only whistling jauntily, playing the merry fool, that no one pays attention to
  * Jaskier smashes his perfumes and rips up his brightly colored clothes
  * There is no Jaskier the Dandy.
  * There’s only clothes as dark as night, as dark as pitch, all the better to conceal bloodstains with
  * Only rough spun wool sticking to his skin as he slips poison into a lord’s drink at a feast
  * Only the smell of sweat and blood and cum and ash that follows him constantly
  * Jaskier loses his footing in spilled oil and crashes to the floor
  * The rings held carefully in his breast pocket tinkle against each other
  * He pulls them out and gazes at the simple silver bands, a single stone set into each
  * Yellow for him
  * Blue for Geralt
  * He considers tossing them across the room, but can’t bring himself to damage them.
  * He grips them tightly in a closed fist, instead; imprinting their edges into flesh.
  * There is no Jaskier the lover, the beloved, the cherished
  * There is only prepping himself quickly and efficiently, before meeting a target, lest he tear and require medical attention
  * Only bringing himself to hardness with thoughts of soft, gentle caresses, rather than rough manhandling
  * Only rolling his cloak into a tight bundle and wrapping his arms around it in the night, wishing it could hold him back
  * The tears fall then, and he lets them.
  * Jaskier lays back on the floor, clutching the rings to his chest.
  * There is no Jaskier.
  * There is only
  * _Monster_
  * _Monster_
  * _Monster_
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are~~
  * Jaskier closes his eyes, surrounded by the remnants of all of the things that make him who he is.
  * His last thought is of silver hair and gentle hands and beautiful yellow eyes.
  * Julian opens his eyes to wreckage.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update Wednesday.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian’s first solo chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: The Rock Hyrax is a small, thickset, herbivorous animal native to Africa and the Middle East. They have at least 21 different vocalizations, including trills, yips, grunts, wails, snorts, twitters, shrieks, growls, and whistles.

  * Julian sits up and gazes at the funeral pyre Jaskier made for himself.
  * Puddles of perfume mix and reek, as they slowly sink into the wooden floorboards.
  * A scrap of bright blue doublet hangs from a shattered mirror
  * Judging by the stinging cuts on his knuckles, destroyed by his own hand
  * Slivers of Elven wood decorate the floor and cling to his shirt
  * Only the neck of the lute remains in tact.
  * After all who ever _really_ pays attention to a bard?
  * Julian rises from the ground, dusting off his shirt, leaving small red trails along the fabric.
  * ~~More of that to come soon~~
  * ~~A river fit for nothing but drowning~~
  * He gazes down at the rings in his hand, the edges imprinted into his skin.
  * Such pretty little things
  * ~~Such pretty little _lies_~~
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are~~
  * He tucks them carefully into the pocket of his trousers
  * He has business to attend to, before he can properly lay Jaskier to rest, once and for all.
  * He grabs the daggers and the coin purse from Jaskier’s travel bags; as well as the heavy, intricate key sewn into the lining for safe keeping.
  * Wouldn’t do to lose _that_
  * He walks out the door, closing it softly behind him; leaving the chaos as it is.
  * He normally isn’t a fan of leaving such evidence behind
  * Prefers his presence to be inferred by a specific lack of it, unless sending a message.
  * But even he isn’t depraved enough to disturb a _grave_.
  * ~~Monster~~
  * There’s a brothel in central Oxenfurt, that isn’t a brothel.
  * It has all of the usual ephemera; gaudy colors, soft satins, and beautiful whores, always ready for hire
  * It also has two very large basements, deep in the earth, and one of the lost deadly security forces he’s ever encountered.
  * For those in the know, it is the single most secure bank in the Continent, and it holds secrets that make even _his_ stomach turn.
  * There had never been a successful robbery
  * Nor an attempted one, after the last unfortunate would-be thieves were found floating in the town’s river.
  * Well, pieces of them were, anyway.
  * As one can imagine, the bank serves a rather exclusive clientele.
  * And they never dispose of the contents of an account, no matter how long it has been inactive.
  * Julian needs to make a very specific withdrawal.
  * The whore that greets him at the door smiles prettily, before Julian flashes the heavy key at him.
  * “I’m here to see the account manager.”
  * There’s a quick flash in the boy’s eyes and he nods, silently.
  * Julian follows him through the brothel, ignoring the moans and the scent of sex thick in the air, until they come to a room at the rear of the building.
  * “A client for you, Madam,” the boy says, as he opens the door, leading Julian inside.
  * At an ornate wooden desk sits a slightly plump, blonde woman, dressed in sumptuous, if conservative, silks.
  * She flanked by a man and woman wearing lacy masks around their eyes; thier clothing revealing enough skin, as to be all but useless.
  * Either of them can and will kill him in the blink of an eye, should the account manager desire it.
  * The account manager dismisses the boy, before turning to Julian with an impersonal smile, that doesn’t reach her cold brown eyes.
  * She offers him a seat and he takes it, unbothered by the guards watching him carefully.
  * He has no intention of causing trouble any trouble. Even _he_ knows when to play by the rules.
  * “How can I help you this evening, sir,” the account manager asks, voice full of false cheer.
  * Julian lays the key - red metal that shimmers in the firelight of the room - across the desk.
  * “I wish to make a withdrawal from my box,” he replies.
  * The blonde picks up the key, studying the filigree along the stem and the nightingale engraved into the head.
  * “Ah,” she says. “One of our older accounts. This particular box may have been moved to our inactive section.”
  * She rises from the desk, handing the key back to him.
  * “This may take a few moments to retrieve, sir. Would you care for a beverage or some company while you wait?”
  * The guards’ postures loosen and they begin sashaying towards him.
  * ~~Open mouthed kisses along his shoulders~~
  * ~~Gentle, gentle nips around his collarbones.~~
  * “No,” he responds, flatly.
  * The account manager nods and the guards go back to where they were, before she disappears through a door on the wall behind the desk.
  * 15 minutes later she returns and beckons him to a door near the fireplace.
  * “Your chest has been moved into the adjoining room for your privacy, sir. Please, take as long as you need.”
  * Julian rises and walks through the door, to a room with no windows, lit by lanterns.
  * There is a black chest of moderate size sitting on a simple wooden table and several bags, magically charmed to be impossible to fill, helpfully provided by the bank.
  * Julian turns the key in the chest’s lock and opens it.
  * The chest is divided into six separate removable trays, each of them enchanted by the bank to be unfillable.
  * Julian removes the first tray and pulls out an unfillable travel bag and clothes.
  * Rich, dark red velvets and silks for seduction
  * Deep, pitch colored shirts and trousers for stealth
  * Heavy purple brocades sit beside rough spun wools for disguise.
  * All clean and ready for wear
  * ~~Just a phantom whiff of blood and ash and cum and honeysuckle~~
  * He packs the clothes into the travel bag.
  * Next he removes the money tray, filling four purses full and still having enough left behind to sink his arm into, up to the elbow
  * ~~The coins gleam like tears, like sweat in the lantern light~~
  * He gathers a few pieces of sparkling jewelry from another tray.
  * Finally, Julian pulls out a tray that contains only three items.
  * An intricately carved wooden horse, the paint worn thin in places, by a child’s hand.
  * A lock of his sister’s hair, still smelling faintly of hay and apples.
  * A single lute string, worn thin and snapped in the middle, from use
  * Julian pulls the rings from his breast pocket.
  * He studies the way the silver gleams and the lantern light refracts off of the stones.
  * ~~In that light he sees a dream~~
  * ~~A cottage, on the cliffs by the sea~~
  * ~~Silver hair glinting in the sunlight, while its owner works in the garden~~
  * ~~Sienna freckles along his shoulders and chest and nose~~
  * ~~The taste of strawberries and sweet wine on his lips.~~
  * Slowly, Julian places the rings beside the horse and the string and the lock of hair.
  * ~~Goodbye, Jaskier.~~
  * He returns all of the trays to the chest, closes the lid, and locks it.
  * The heavy clank of the lock turning rings like the final toll of a church bell in his ears.
  * He lifts his gaze from the chest, to see Death staring back at him across the room.
  * “Soon, old friend,” he promises. “Soon.”
  * He turns and leaves the room.
  * There is a house in the forest at the edge of Oxenfurt. It has been there for 400 years.
  * It has never changed owners.
  * The woman that lives there is one of the most sought after contractors for the Redanian Secret Service.
  * Poisons, explosives, disguises; she’s the best at what she does.
  * Unfortunately, she is ever so picky about which agents she will take as clients.
  * Julian walks up the path towards the front door, no thought to stealth; she already knows that he’s here.
  * A blade kisses his throat from behind and the smell of blackberries, river water, cypress, and soot fills his nose.
  * “Well, look what the wind blew in,” comes a smoky, amused voice from behind his ear. “A little lost shadow on my doorstep.”
  * Julian smiles, tilting his head backwards, away from the blade, “Sprezyna.”
  * “Julian,” she returns, stepping around so that he can see her dark, wild hair and deep green eyes.
  * She studies him for a moment, before pulling the blade away, “you look tired. Let’s have a drink.”
  * She shoves the blade into the sheath in the back of the trousers she’s wearing and gestures for him to follow her.
  * They walk through the garden and through a side door, into a kitchen that smells faintly of saltpeter and charcoal
  * There’s black soot on the wall, originating in one spot and shooting outwards.
  * “Blowing yourself up again,” he asks.
  * “Not in the last few days. Chemistry is a tricky subject, you know.”
  * “Particularly when you’re _trying_ to make something explode.”
  * Julian sprawls into a chair at a round table in the center of the room, a sigh escaping him as he fights the exhaustion clawing at his bones.
  * “You want something for that,” Sprezyna asks, gesturing at the cuts on his hand, while pouring them a drink. “Or are you going to let it set?”
  * He looks down at the cuts, where the glass of the mirror bit into his hand.
  * On one hand it might effect his range of movement, on the other -
  * ~~“My _fondness_ of you has reached its limit”~~
  * Well, a scar always makes for a good reminder.
  * “Leave it.”
  * Sprezyna shrugs and hands him a glass of whisky, before sinking down into the chair close to his.
  * Together, they stare at the black soot on the wall and sip their whisky.
  * “So, who broke your heart, Julian?”
  * That was Sprezyna. Straight to the point, with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
  * “What makes you think my heart is broken?”
  * She snorts, “please, only love leaves pain like that in its wake.”
  * Julian takes a swig of whisky, warmth trailing down his throat to settle in the pit of his chest.
  * “A good man,” he responds, finally. “Kind, gentle. I was keeping secrets.”
  * ~~Blood coating his hands, his arms~~
  * ~~Stregobor’s screams echoing in his ears.~~
  * “As do we all. Of course,” she gestures idly with her glass, “our secrets aren’t the general “had a threesome with the groom and my cousin at my sister’s wedding” fare.”
  * He chuckles, despite himself and takes another sip of whisky.
  * “No way to get him back,” she asks.
  * “No.”
  * ~~“ _Monsters_ like you aren’t capable of love”~~
  * “No, I don’t think so,” he says.
  * Sprezyna nods, “so, what are you going to do, then?”
  * What is he going to do?
  * Geralt may no longer be his to cherish, his to love, but he’s still under Julian’s protection.
  * Which means anything of Geralt’s is under his protection
  * ~~He knows what happens to pretty princesses in war~~
  * “There’s a war coming.”
  * “There’s always a war coming,” Sprezyna says dismissively. “I hope you’re not here to recruit me. You know I don’t do field work.”
  * “I intend to stop it,” he says, flatly.
  * The way that only I can.
  * “Why?”
  * She’ll help him, regardless of his answer, if only because watching him work is never boring. Still, for once, he wants to tell the truth, to one of the very few people that would truly understand it.
  * “There’s something in Cintra under my protection. I intend to protect it.”
  * “Under your protection, but not yours. Hmm.”
  * Sprezyna looks over at him and smirks, “well, the head of an enemy does make such a grand gift, and you’ve always been one to take it the extra mile. I appreciate that in a person.”
  * Julian smiles at her, all teeth.
  * He may be naught but a heartless monster, but he protects what’s ~~his~~ under his protection. Always.
  * Sprezyna finishes her drink in one gulp, “Let’s go shopping, shall we?”
  * With that she leads him, back to her workshop. The walls are covered in shelves for books and potions. A fiddle made of black oak that gleams red in moonlight, sits at the top of one of said shelves.
  * Sprezyna makes her way around the room, picking up bottles and bags seemingly at random. She tosses a familiar small black purse at him.
  * “Standard kit with extra hemlock, just the way you like it,” she says, gathering another bottle.
  * Julian looks inside the purse, charmed to be bigger on the inside and finds the standard poisons -belladonna and hemlock -, a vial of stimulant, a bottle of depressant, standard STD potion, quick healing salve, color changing potions for both hair and eyes, as well as a hair growth potion. He nods to himself and tucks the purse into his travel bag.
  * “Now,” Sprezyna says, making her way over to a nearby table, setting down the things she’s gathered. “Seeing as you are going after an army, I’ve pulled out my special occasion selection.”
  * She hands him a clear bottle of what, for all intents and purposes, looks like water.
  * Julian doesn’t open it.
  * Knowing Sprezyna it likely has the power to bring an empire to its knees or fell the Continent with a single blow.
  * “That, insidious little bastard, is one of my more inspired creations,” she explains. “Simply drop a quarter of that bottle into your local water supply or vat of mead and 36 hours later, everyone who’s had so much as a drop is choking to death on their own blood. No symptoms, no warnings, just a fuck ton of bodies. Great for long range and high kill count.”
  * “You’ve given this to _Marx_ ,” he asks, incredulously.
  * “Please,” she scoffs. “Knowing him he’d drop it in a lord’s decanter and whoopsie-poopsie, he’s not only killed the lord, but the diplomatic envoys to three different kingdoms as well.”
  * Julian lets out a bark of laughter.
  * Sprezyna is one of the few people as irreverent about both death and the RSS as he is.
  * ~~Maybe because they’ve dealt with both of them for so long~~
  * “Next, we have this lovely little powder made from the spines of a very particular fish,” she pulls out a sealed tin, handing it to him. “Be sure to wear gloves and a mask with this one. It absorbs through skin for an instant kill. Dust a little on a commonly used item and voila, instant heart attack.”
  * Risky, but useful, which is essentially his plan all over.
  * “Last, but not least, a blood thinner and anticoagulant . Give your target five drops of this and a paper cut will kill them. A bit messy, but, oh, so effective.”
  * Julian looks over the selection, before nodding, “I’ll take the lot.”
  * “You’ve got it. I’ll even throw in a nice little bag to hold them in.”
  * Julian hands over one of his full coin purses and takes the satchel from Sprezyna.
  * “Pleasure doing business with you. And, as I tell all of my favorite customers: If you -“
  * “Meet a fiddler and his wife in the woods at midnight and they offer you a game of Gwent: decline. They’re sore losers,” he recites, dutifully.
  * “Fair winds and may hell follow swift upon your heel, Julian,” she says, with a sharp smile.
  * Julian turns and leaves the house.
  * He has everything he needs.
  * Time to be a kingslayer again.




	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt’s first solo chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: Giraffes only have 7 vertebrae in their necks, the same as humans!

  * Geralt has been living in the woods of Temaria for a little over a month now.
  * Moving from town to town, clearing any monsters he comes across
  * He stopped staying in inns after -
  * ~~“Toss a Coin to Your Witcher” sang off key, in a reedy voice; waiting for the spluttering outrage beside him, only to be met with silence~~
  * ~~Roughly yanking at his hair, trying to untangle entrails from it, waiting for gentle, dexterous fingers to replace his own~~
  * ~~Rolling over in bed expecting to see brown haloed in red on the pillow next to him, only to see emptiness~~
  * A Witcher didn’t need such comfort anyway.
  * Never mind that he’d thrown away his bedroll after he left Oxenfurt, because he couldn’t get the ~~oakmoss~~ ~~wildflowers~~ ~~sandalwood _home_~~ smell out of it
  * He runs a hand through short, choppy hair, collecting leaves, twigs, and Melitele knows what else, as it goes.
  * He’d cut it after - 
  * ~~The feeling of phantom fingers brushing through it, soothing him after a nightmare~~
  * ~~The slight tug as it’s braided back, away from his face, flowers hidden in the plaits~~
  * ~~Gentle fingers lacing through it and soft moans from above, as he’s on his knees~~
  * Short hair is easier to care for in the long run.
  * Geralt hears a twig snap nearby and jolts from his revery, his hand gripping the silver sword, only to find Lambert leaning against a tree, smirking at him.
  * “What the fuck have you done to your hair,” his brother asks.
  * ~~Took a fucking dagger to it~~
  * “Fuck off, Lambert,” he growls.
  * Lambert saunters closer, heedless of Geralt’s grumbling.
  * “No wonder people around here were taking about a yellow-eyed beast living in the woods,” he says, reaching out and picking a bit of dried mud from the mess. “What, did you let a Striga try their hand at braiding?”
  * Geralt knocks the hand away, “I said ‘fuck off’.”
  * “Not a chance,” Lambert responds, sitting down next to him on the log and taking a pair of scissors from his travel bag. “You’ll ruin the reputations of Witchers everywhere, if I let you run around like this.”
  * Geralt grumbles, but submits to Lambert’s minstrations. At least this way it will be all one length.
  * “So,” his brother says, after a few moments of silence. “I have more information about the Shadowstalker.”
  * “I know everything I need about the fucking Shadowstalker,” he snaps.
  * ~~Soft kisses and always asking and gentle hands and lullabies~~
  * ~~All lies, lies, _lies  
_~~
  * ~~~~“Well, I spent a lot of time and effort collecting it, so you’re going to fucking listen,” Lambert snaps back.
  * “Fine,” he grumbles.
  * What could possible be worse ~~make his chest ache and his eyes sting and his throat tighten~~ more than what he already knows?
  * “Went through the places where the Shadowstalker reportedly killed; while there were plenty ready to call him ‘monster’, there were just as many to call him ‘angel’.”
  * “What do you mean,” he asks, fighting back a scoff.
  * “Apparently, the man was picky about his jobs. Every lord, king, knight, and two-coin mage he killed had a long string of monstrosities behind them,” Lambert paused to detangle a bit of hair, before cutting it. “I’m talking about the kind of shit you can’t even dream of: torturing and raping, starving their peasants until the streets were littered with bodies, hunting them for sport, burning little girls in their beds for being too smart or too pretty, flogging boys to death for stealing a loaf of bread. The kind of shit that would turn your stomach, oh, White Wolf. The Shadowstalker killed them all.”
  * Geralt feels slightly queasy
  * The thought of Jaskier anywhere near the kind of people his brother was describing - 
  * He can’t be that big of an idiot.
  * The Shadowstalker did what he did for coin, not some noble purpose.
  * ~~But doesn’t he do the same?~~
  * “The last job,” Lambert swallowed loudly, clearly pushing away some emotion.
  * Dread creeps up Geralt’s neck.
  * Lambert _never_ lets himself show that kind of tell.
  * “The last job the Shadowstalker took,” his brother continues slowly. “They were trying to recreate the Grasses.”.
  * Geralt’s heart drops to his feet and his fingers start to tingle with cold.
  * “Two mages. They were taking boys, girls, whoever they could fucking find, and testing out potions to recreate the Grasses on them. You can imagine how it went.”
  * ~~Screams~~
  * ~~Days~~
  * ~~After days~~
  * ~~After days of screams~~
  * ~~Mutagens boiling in his veins, his skin, his eyes~~
  * ~~Boiling him alive~~
  * “They didn’t succeed and the kids that were left,” Lambert cleared his throat. “The kids that were left...”
  * ~~Boys screaming in constant pain~~
  * ~~Left deformed by the transformation~~
  * ~~Silent and drooling in a corner unable to escape the things inside their own heads~~
  * Geralt reaches up and pulls Lambert’s head down against his shoulder, taking in the pine, river silt, coriander scent of his brother.
  * They sit there for a moment and breathe together.
  * “The Shadowstalker granted them mercy,” Lambert whispers.
  * ~~Screams abruptly silenced with the ring of a sword~~
  * ~~Grave~~
  * ~~Upon grave~~
  * ~~Upon grave on the grounds of Kaer Morhen~~
  * “And the mages,” Geralt asks, trying to fight his rising nausea.
  * ~~Jaskier had~~
  * ~~had~~
  * ~~had~~
  * “Shadowstalker decided if they wanted to recreate the Grasses that badly, they should experience them for themselves. They died in a puddle of their own shit and piss.”
  * ~~_Good_~~
  * He runs a gentle hand through Lambert’s hair, soothing the younger Witcher.
  * “Whoever the Shadowstalker is, he may be a monster, but tell me you wouldn’t have done the same. The monsters he hunts just wear human skin.”
  * Geralt can’t
  * He can’t say that given the same situation, he wouldn’t have done the same thing, if not worse.
  * But he’s a Witcher, a monster, and Jaskier is -
  * Jaskier _was_ -
  * a lie
  * Jaskier was a lie
  * A lie of omission, perhaps, but still a lie
  * ~~As if he doesn’t have secrets~~
  * ~~As if he ever would have told Jaskier about Blaviken, about Renfri, about the Butcher, if Jaskier didn’t ask~~
  * ~~As if he ever told Jaskier about the third wish~~
  * “I know who he is,” Geralt mutters, as Lambert pulls away. “Redanian Secret Service, under a man named Valdo Marx.”
  * Lambert whistles low, “there’s those that would pay a pretty coin for that information.”
  * “It’s not for sale.”
  * Jaskier’s love may have been a lie, but Geralt’s wasn’t.
  * He won’t kill another person ~~another monster~~ he loves 
  * Lambert’s hands pause in his hair, “did you say Marx?”
  * “Why,” Geralt asks, trying to ignore the way his stomach sinks.
  * “Heard some nasty rumors about that one. Treats those under his command like a personal army of whores to send out for information and assassinations. Gets them young, too. Maybe 16, when he recruits them.”
  * Geralt’s stomach turns and he swallows back the bile burning in his throat.
  * He’s about to ask Lambert for clarification - praying that he’s _wrong_ \- when he hears twigs snapping in the woods, coming closer.
  * Both he and Lambert stand, hands going to their swords.
  * A blonde girl with bright green eyes runs out of the woods, pausing when she comes upon his camp.
  * They stare at each other and he _knows_ that this is the Child Surprise that he never intended to meet.
  * She looks at him for a moment longer, before barreling into his arms.
  * He closes his arms and holds her right, taking in the rose, honey, cherry blossom scent of her.
  * “What the fuck,” Lambert mutters.
  * “Lambert, meet my Child Surprise.”
  * “Your _what_ now?”




	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Double update today!  
> Julian’s Second Solo Chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: Platypuses must eat 20% of their own body weight every day.

  * After leaving Oxenfurt, Julian gets a portal south and crosses the border of Nilfgaard in the dead of night.
  * He gets himself a job as a servant in a lord’s house
  * Servant is truly the best disguise of all
  * The hear everything, see everything, and say nothing
  * Unless they’re in the company of other servants, of course
  * Within three days Julian has learned that the old lord just so happens to be a war advisor to the king
  * And he prefers his company young and sweet and, occasionally, male.
  * He spends the next two days making himself as appealing as possible to the lord
  * Doe eyes and soft spoken voice and gentle simpering when he is “caught” reading in the lord’s library.
  * By the third night, Julian is serving the old man a glass of wine in his bed chamber, when the lord tells him to stay and have a drink
  * Julian smiles softly, hiding his teeth, and pours truth serum into the lord’s goblet, while sitting in his lap
  * He leaves later that night with the names of all of Nilfgaard’s top Generals, war advisors, and a few lovely little secrets.
  * But not before dusting the man’s favorite ring with the deadly little powder that Sprezyna sold him
  * The lord is old, after all, and a heart attack wouldn’t draw too much attention
  * Besides, it wouldn’t do to have the lord awaken and remember spilling state secrets to the blond haired servant boy he took to bed.
  * He next disguises himself as a dandy, with a penchant for red lip paints
  * The wife of the General in charge of troop movements loves to see it smeared around his mouth, as he eats her out, over and over again
  * He vanishes into the night, taking memorized maps of the plan for the attack on Cintra.
  * ~~He ignores the ache in his jaw~~
  * ~~And new aversion to the scent of vanilla~~
  * Slowly, he works his way around the Nilfgaardian gentry, taking secrets as his payment
  * He’s blond, he’s brunet, he’s red haired.
  * His eyes are blue, are green, are brown, ~~are dead~~
  * His hair is long, is short, is not there at all
  * He’s clean shaven, he’s stubbled, he has a full, sleek, beard
  * Julian stops looking in mirrors, unless he needs to put on kohl or paint
  * ~~He’s never recognized the person there anyway~~
  * “When the king takes a lover, they don’t often make it out alive”
  * He learns, his blond hair pooled against a pillow and cum leaking down his thighs.
  * “His Majesty would love a mouthy thing like you”
  * Perched over a lord, his hips working in short, sharp thrusts
  * “The King would think you absolutely lovely like this. But you’re mine, aren’t you?”
  * A finger running over the dark bruises that ring his throat.
  * “Of course I am, darling,” he lies, with a smile.
  * He has his in
  * Julian appears at a royal gala, dressed in sumptuous silks that flirt with the edge of indecency
  * He makes a point of looking politely unimpressed when introduced to the King.
  * The King’s eyes blaze with fire, with lust.
  * ~~The Queen looks at him with a mixture of pity and relief~~
  * By the end of the night, there’s a cock choking his throat and a hand yanking at the roots of his hair
  * Only, Julian isn’t there
  * He’s floating far away in his mind, to a place with
  * Strong, rough hands brushing gently along ~~his~~ Jaskier’s scalp
  * The smell of woodsmoke cedar and wild musk, strongest in the curls on ~~his~~ Jaskier’s Witcher’s pelvis
  * Soft moans from above ~~him~~ Jaskier, filling ~~his~~ Jaskier’s ears, ~~his~~ Jaskier’s head, ~~his~~ Jaskier’s heart
  * “How would you like to spend some time in my court,” the King asks, running a thumb over bruised red lips
  * “Nothing would please me more, your Majesty,” Julian says, with a smile, just this side of too sharp
  * Over the following week Julian spends more and more time in that other place, deep within his mind.
  * Harsh, rough bites along his neck, his collarbones, his ribs, his thighs become
  * Soft, open mouthed kisses to every freckle on ~~his~~ Jaskier’s body
  * Tight, bruising holds on his wrists become
  * A gentle hand cupped around ~~his~~ Jaskier’s hip, a callused thumb rubbing the place where ~~his~~ Jaskier’s shirt has ridden up to reveal skin
  * The burning sting of too little prep becomes
  * A curtain of silver hair above ~~his~~ Jaskier’s face and slow thrusts that slide smoothly through so much oil ~~his~~ Jaskier’s thighs are slick with it 
  * Death watches from the corner of the room, as the King takes his fill of Julian’s body
  * ~~Soon, old friend~~
  * ~~Soon~~
  * After a week, Julian knows all that he needs to
  * The nobles are itching for war with Cintra
  * Killing the King will not be enough to prevent it
  * To leave even one of them alive risks
  * ~~He knows what happens to pretty princesses in war~~
  * He doesn’t just need to cut the head off the snake
  * He needs to topple an empire with one blow
  * The only issues is the King never seems to want to deal with having all of his advisors and Generals and Knights and lords in the room at the same time
  * Which is exactly what Julian needs
  * Then, after a night of short, violent, burning thrusts
  * Jaskier fluidly rocking on Geralt’s lap, the Witcher’s knees behind ~~his~~ Jaskier’s back for comfort and support
  * And a bejeweled hand digging bruises into his throat
  * A soft kiss behind ~~his~~ Jaskier’s ear, as a necklace is carefully clasped
  * Julian hears that there’s an invasion force preparing to attack Cintra’s border in two days time.
  * Death smiles from their corner
  * Julian smiles back
  * Felling an invasion force is rather simple in the end.
  * It requires:
  * A portal from a local mage
  * Several barrels of fine mead, lovingly laced with Sprezyna’s “insidious bastard”
  * The pronouncement that the King has sent libations for his soldiers on the eve of battle
  * And a toast in the King’s name
  * Julian is back on the castle grounds within an hour, Death brushing fingers along his shoulders as he walks through the gardens
  * He knows the moment the poison succeeds, around lunchtime, the day after next.
  * Death lets out a thunderous cackle and disappears from the corner
  * Julian smiles into his glass of wine and continues his meal
  * The King, predictably, is not pleased that all 500 of his invasion force choked on their own blood at Cintra’s border
  * He showcases his displeasure by binding Julian’s arms to the bed and taking a belt to his back
  * Julian so far away in -
  * Hands gently kneading oil into the muscles of ~~his~~ Jaskier’s back and shoulders; the scent of cedar woodsmoke and lavender oil filling the space
  * \- fights back the wild laughter in his chest
  * Two weeks later finds Julian with hands bruising his wrists
  * Silver hair thrown back in ecstasy, scarred chest arching backwards towards ~~his~~ Jaskier’s knees
  * The scent of mandarin, cherry, and burnt caramel fouling the air around him
  * Woodsmoke cedar and wild musk on ~~his~~ Jaskier’s pillow
  * Listening to the King’s moans for the last time
  * Death steps from their corner, brushes a finger over his jaw, looks deep into his eyes, and smiles.
  * Julian smiles back
  * All the King’s men - lords, knights, advisors, generals and mages - are gathering to discuss the disaster at the Cintran border
  * Their wives, of course, are excluded
  * War is no place for women, after all.
  * Julian has not been
  * Never know when the King will need his cockwarmer
  * Julian slipped hemlock into the wine reserved for feasts days ago
  * All he has to do is wait for a toast
  * Repetitive, perhaps, but, oh, so effective.
  * They toast to the King’s health
  * Minutes later, lords, mages, knights, Generals, and advisors drop like flies
  * The room reeks of shit and piss and vomit
  * Death cackles in his ear and Julian turns his attention on the King, who was smart enough to use a taster that day.
  * “So, darling,” Julian says, running a finger around the rim of his untouched glass. “Whatever shall we do about this?”
  * The King reaches for his sword, eyes blazing.
  * With a flick of his hand, Julian buries a dagger in the King’s wrist
  * Screams mix with Death’s cackles.
  * Julian saunters over to the King, menace dripping in every sway of his hips
  * The King reaches for the handle of the dagger
  * Only, Julian is quicker
  * He has the Kong’s head pulled back by the hair, and a blade kissing the man’s throat
  * “Why,” the King snarls, between gritted teeth. “Why would a _whore_ like you go to all this trouble?”
  * Because
  * ~~He knows what happens to pretty princesses in war~~
  * ~~“ _Monsters_ aren’t capable of love, _Julian_ ”~~
  * ~~Two silver rings gathering dust inside a chest in a brothel that isn’t a brothel~~
  * ~~You can’t escape what you are.~~ ~~~~
  * “You planned to steal something under my protection,” he responds. “And I don’t take kindly to that.”
  * One smooth stroke and he watches as the King’s eyes roll back into his head, a gurgling wheeze drifting up from the hole in the man’s throat
  * Julian pulls the crown from the man’s head, as the body falls, leaving it dangling from his fingers
  * This is when the door opens and Julian catches a glint of silver hair and yellow eyes in his peripheral vision
  * “Are you here to kill me, Witcher?”




	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack’s Fun Fact of the Day: Sugar Gliders can glide over 150 feet!

  * They’ve been traveling with Ciri for 11 days and Geralt already loves her more than life itself.
  * Apparently, the mass poisoning of a Nilfgaardian invasion force at the Cintran border, prompted Eist and Calanthe to send Ciri to Skellige for safety.
  * Her caravan had been attacked on the road, and she had inadvertently portaled herself to safety.
  * They are riding towards Cintra to return the wayward princess.
  * Lambert tags along, with his horse “Bastard”, mostly for the blackmail value of the scene sure to greet them on arrival.
  * Ciri is insatiably curious and asks questions near constantly.
  * He finds himself looking at the spot where Jaskier would usually walk beside him, more and more often.
  * Jaskier would know how to handle this
  * How to answer all of Ciri’s endless questions and soothe her nightmares with lullabies.
  * “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ciri says, apropos of nothing.
  * “Loss,” he asks, confused.
  * “You look to the side, like you’re expecting someone to be there,” she explains. “Grandma looks at Eist’s chair like that when he’s gone to Skellige, and at the door to my mother’s room.”
  * Grief
  * Ciri can see his grief and assumes -
  * “He isn’t _gone_ ,” Geralt says, choosing his words carefully. “He just...isn’t here.”
  * “Oh,” she says. “Did you have a fight?”
  * ~~“ _Monsters_ aren’t capable of love, _Julian_ ”~~
  * “Hmm.”
  * “You should buy him flowers to apologize,” Ciri declares. “That’s what Esit does when Grandma is mad at him.”
  * “I was the one that left,” Geralt explains, gently.
  * ~~Jaskier staring after him, begging him not to go.~~
  * “Why,” she asks.
  * “He wasn’t who he said he was.”
  * ~~Shadowstalker~~
  * ~~Julian~~
  * ~~“A trail of bodies to Kaer Morhen and back”~~
  * ~~Stregobor hanging from the walls of his castle~~
  * “My mum talked about that in her journals,” Ciri says, after a moment. “She said that people in court do it because they don’t like who they are.”
  * “What,” Geralt asks, his stomach sinking slightly
  * Ciri hesitates for a moment, “Grandma calls you “The Butcher of Blaviken”.”
  * No surprises there.
  * “But,” she gestures at his face. “You don’t like that. Maybe your friend doesn’t like who he is either.”
  * Only the balance innate to Witchers keeps Geralt from sliding from Roach’s back.
  * What if -
  * What if was that simple?
  * What if Jaskier didn’t _like_ being the Shadowstalker, being Julian?
  * What if that’s why he never told Geralt about it?
  * What if - 
  * “Maybe 16 when he recruits them”
  * Fuck
  * What if Jaskier didn’t have a _choice_?
  * Geralt feels sick
  * He pulls Roach to a stop, at the side of the road.
  * Jaskier could be -
  * “If I’m such a monster, why don’t you kill me”
  * Jaskier could be dead and the last words Geralt said to him -
  * He has to know
  * “Why are we stopping,” Lambert asks.
  * Geralt dismounts, taking Ciri’s bags and placing them on Bastard’s back.
  * “I need you to take Ciri to Cintra for me.”
  * “What,” Lambert laughs, as Geralt helps Ciri onto Bastard’s back.
  * “Thank you, Princess Cirilla of Cintra,” he says with a smile. “I’m glad to have met you.”
  * “You’re welcome, Geralt of Rivia,” she responds. “I hope you find him.”
  * “Find who,” Lambert asks, incredulously.
  * Geralt mounts Roach, turning her in the direction of the tug on his soul.
  * “Geralt, where the fuck are you going,” Lambert shouts, at his retreating back.
  * “To do something stupid,” Geralt responds, pushing Roach faster down the road.
  * Geralt never wanted to be in the same town as Yennfer again, much less the same room, but, for Jaskier, he’ll grit his teeth and do it.
  * He meets Yennefer and, surprisingly, Triss, on the outskirts of a nearby town three days after he leaves Lambert and Ciri.
  * He doesn’t take any time to explain his presence, simply says that he needs a portal to Jaskier’s location and hands them the rest of his coin.
  * He doesn’t miss the flash of fear that goes through Yennefer’s scent at Jaskier’s name.
  * Geralt always did wonder how Jaskier got from the tent to Stregobor’s castle and back, in one night.
  * He wonders how much Yennefer saw that night, but doesn’t ask
  * Yennefer looks at the coin and shakes her head, handing it back to him.
  * “On the house, just this once.”
  * Apology is weakness and this is the closest that she can give the Witcher
  * Geralt hesitates, but nods.
  * “We’ll need something of his for a tracking spell,” Triss says.
  * Geralt digs in Roach’s saddlebags until he finds a necklace that he’d given to Jaskier, that got mixed in with his things by accident.
  * He hands over the necklace and waits as the sorceresses work
  * The tracking spell leads to the Royal Court of Nilfgaard
  * Geralt’s blood _freezes_ in his veins
  * Apparently, Nilfgaard had found out about his connection with Ciri, and was willing to pay a pretty coin for the capture of himself, or anyone he associated with.
  * It has caused a few problems, on the way back to Cintra, but nothing that he and Lambert couldn’t handle.
  * Even with Jaskier being the Shadowstalker, though, Geralt knows that all it takes is one single mistake to find yourself ~~captured trapped interrogated tortured~~ in a bad situation.
  * He prowls the length of the room, as Triss and Yennefer prepare the portal to take him to Jaskier’s exact location.
  * He tries to prepare himself for -
  * ~~Jaskier hanging limply against chains binding him to the wall by the wrists~~
  * ~~Jaskier missing his eyes, his fingers, his toes, his tongue~~
  * ~~Jaskier naked and filthy, thighs slick with blood~~
  * ~~Jaskier emaciated enough for resemble a breathing corpse~~
  * ~~Jaskier gasping out his last breath in Geralt’s arms; the oakmoss wildflower sandalwood scent of him turning to rot~~
  * \- for what he could potentially encounter
  * Triss and Yennefer open the portal to Nilfgaard and Geralt draws his steel sword.
  * Depending on the condition Jaskier is in, silver might be more appropriate
  * “He’s in the dining hall,” Yennfer says. “This should take you straight to the doors.”
  * “We’ll portal Roach to the palace stables, for a quick escape,” Triss offers with a slight smile.
  * Geralt nods his thanks and steps through the portal.
  * The doors to the dining hall are solid, heavy mahogany.
  * The smell of rot and refuse leaks from beneath them.
  * Geralt’s stomach plummets and he pushes open the doors.
  * The first thing he sees are bodies.
  * Men clutching their throats, mouths open in silent screams, lying dead in puddles of piss and shit and vomit
  * Standing at the High Table is Jaskier
  * His hair is long and lanky, shining with a viscous substance that flashes black in the torchlight
  * Red drips from his arms, his jaw, his neck, his hands
  * A crown hangs limply from the fingers of one hand, the other clutching a dagger
  * What once was the King of Nilfgaard lies at his feet, blood pooling around black boots
  * Dread creeps up Geralt’s spine as ~~Jaskier~~ ~~Julian~~ the Shadowstalker turns dead eyes on him
  * “Are you here to kill me, Witcher?”




End file.
